


We Are Falling In

by notpmaHleM



Series: Its Only Love That We Are Falling In [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon compliant until then, F/M, Jonerys Unites, Smut, Their version of flirting, and feelings, takes place in 7x05, then we get sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notpmaHleM/pseuds/notpmaHleM
Summary: With their advisors away, Jon and Daenerys walk the line of their growing attraction.





	We Are Falling In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LustOnMyFingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/gifts).



> This one shot is for LustOnMyFingers, who generously bid in our charity auction- she wanted flirting, a misunderstanding and a resolution.. I hope this delivers..
> 
> Thank you jalen-mara who got a sneak peak to make sure this wasn’t utter rubbish..
> 
> All editing nonsense is my failings..

 

 

 

 

  

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

_Now don't be scared, it's only love_

_That we're falling in_

_ Falling In by Lifehouse _

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~ ** _Jon_** ~~~~~~

 

 

Distance was hard to maintain on an island.

It was a lesson Jon had discovered at a rapid pace as he tried to not spend too much time in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen. It was a necessary thing, formality between the King in The North and the Dragon Queen. And something he had not fully thought through until Ser Davos had let him know that Jon was not being subtle in his attraction.

When he had first arrived she had seemed as cold, hard and imposing as her lonely castle, isolated on that spit of land. But she was not, he learned, spending time in her company when not harvesting in the caves.

Distance was becoming more and more difficult as he discovered the nuances to her personality and _she_ was making it even more futile to stay away with her curiosity of the work they were doing. Even going farther than the dragonglass and having him recall some of Old Nan’s tales as they would sit around the roaring fire at night. She of course would sniff and inform him that it didn’t mean she believed these impossible tales, she just liked stories.

But she would listen with a delighted look on her face, melting away the Queen to the young woman she was, her and Missandei giggling like girls as he grumped and complained and finally gave in.

It did not help him ignore her, not at all. She was fierce and just, unapologetic for what she believed in. And yet she was kind and caring, not only keeping a constant visual on the needs of her Unsullied and Dothraki, but also the handful of men who were with him, folding them into her own like a mother hen. She cared for her people just as he did.

Begrudgingly he would admit he admired her. He would not give voice to the admittance that he found her beautiful. That she was in his head more often than not, visiting him in his dreams in the most depraved of manner. He should be ashamed of it, instead of wearing himself raw almost every night thinking about her.

Now he was hiding, not that he would call it that, but he was, deep in the caves where he toiled with the men. Davos and Tyrion had left for King’s Landing, in foolish attempt for an even more foolish plan. He was resigned to going, knowing if they thought it necessary, then he _had_ to lead them if they had any chance of coming out alive.

The look on her face as he denied her attempts to make him stay, sat in his chest, the little kernel of hope growing that she may feel an inkling of what he did. It was distracting, that hope, doubly so with Davos’ pointed comment of how she seemed to be enjoying the King of the North’s company.

Shedding his armor and gambeson, he helped load another cart, the heat of the caves not helping his restrained but unruly curls as he wandered deeper into the ground looking for a new vein to cut into.

A scuff of a boot on a rock had him turning in surprise, the light from his torch catching on the silver strands of her hair.

“Hard at work I see.”

It was nothing but words, no seduction implied, but her tone still reached out, caressing down his spine as if it were her touch, causing a shiver, tightening with heat in his groin.

“Aye. Much is to be done still.”

She was eyeing the dragonglass on the wall, fingers reaching out to trace along the roughened edges as if following a man into a confusion of rock bends and turns was a normal occurrence. She paused from her perusal, gaze settling on him. He felt it down to his toes.

“Most Kings would not be down here in the dark, chipping away, hard at work.”

“Most King’s haven’t seen what I have.” The words slipped out in a rush of frustration before he reined himself back in, offered a small smile to make peace. “Apologies, Your Grace. I was not raised to be a King.”

Her eyes slipped for a moment to his lips and the air stalled in his chest. “No, I suppose not.” She turned back to the cave wall, moving along it, dainty boots bringing her closer to where he stood. “ Though I somehow believe no matter how you were raised, you would still be down here working amongst your men.”

The look in her eye was bright even in the dark, the compliment making him shift on feet, suddenly shy at the praise. Opening his mouth to speak, though not sure of what he would say, she tripped over a jutting rock, spilling towards him. He caught her by the elbows as she crashed into his chest, soft curves plastered to him in the most wonderful of ways.

A noseful of her hair had him breathing in deeply before he helped her upright, a breath apart, her lips still rounded in surprise. They were captivating, pink and plump, lips made to be kissed. The want was there, right there at the edge of his fingers, an easy thing to close the distance and test them out.

The torch fell from her hand landing at his boots, making him jolt with surprise and step away from it in an awkward shuffle, dragging her with him. A snicker was heard as he cursed, trying to keep from catching his trousers or her coat on fire, then an unladylike laugh as he kicked at the offending object.

He narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance, enjoying the sight of her trying to compose herself. “You might be called the Unburnt, Your Grace, but I am not.”

“My apologies.” She was biting her lip in attempt to hold back a smile. “Worry not My Lord, if you were to catch fire I would put out the flames.”

Suddenly aware he still had her elbow, her hands resting on his upper arms, he let go of his grip, giving her leave to step back.

She didn’t.

“It appears you are above all, a savior Your Grace.” His voice had roughened even more with her against him, the feel of her hands burning right into his skin. She was so close he could see the flecks of green and gold in her eyes, hear her breathing along his own. There was a boil in his blood, the urge to see what her breath would do if he was closer.

He handled her again, propping her a bit more upright before he embarrassed himself thoroughly. This time she seemed to catch on, something like regret flickering across her face before she let him go, fingers dragging down to his wrists before she stepped back.

“Well, what would the North do without their King?”

Huffing out a breath of air, he stooped to pick up her torch, relighting it with the one he had wedged into the rock face. He handed it to her, an excuse to let his fingers brush against hers. “Find themselves a new one I suppose.”

The fierceness of her gaze made him lose his breath.

“Then they are fools.”

He gave her a small grin as he picked up his own torch. “They’ve been called that before. Come on, Your Grace, I’ll escort you out.”

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Tell me about the vows of the Night’s Watch.”

Jon almost sputtered into his cup of ale, eyes finding the woman curled up in the chair before the fire, sipping delicately at her wine. It was a complicated question for a man who had taken them and then fulfilled them by dying. He decided to tread a delicate line.

“What part Your Grace? _I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men._ ”

Eyelashes fluttered at him and he was almost certain he seen her roll her eyes.

“Not that part. Lord Tyrion informs me there is a vow of celibacy?”

Suddenly his neck felt hot as did the pit of his stomach and he stopped himself from fidgeting where he sat. _What game was she playing here?_ “Ah… our vows say we will take no wives and have no children.”

“Not exactly the same, is it?”

The Queen looked very pleased with herself, studying him like a wolf would it’s prey and the surge of lust had him almost biting his tongue in half. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Have you?” This seemed to delight her, her tongue running across her bottom lip.

“Aye.” Slowly, he seemed to realize they were alone, his heart stuttering as she rose out of her chair, his tongue thick as she sauntered over, his exhale easily heard as she stopped by the table at his elbow.

“More ale? She helped herself to the wine, a secretive smile as he shook his head no at the offer. She moved to the chair across from him, close enough to reach out and touch a knee if she wished. “Tell me then Jon Snow, what do you believe it to be?”

There was a spell being woven in the air between them, as thick as molasses and he was unable to stop it, didn’t want to stop it. He leaned onto his elbows, swirled the contents in his mug before lifting his eyes to hers. “I’m no green boy, if that’s the question.”

The tick in her neck was back, a movement that would be easy to trace with his tongue, his mouth watering at the thought. Daenerys leaned forward, her soft perfume leading the way, wrapping around his senses.

A throat cleared and he almost jumped in surprise, noting that she did not fare much better. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Missandei hands clasped together.

“Apologies Your Grace, but there is a raven.”

The chill of her scowl could damper the heat from the fire and he was pleased to see the evidence that she was just as put out by the interruption as he was. Watching the outline of her curves as she strode away, Jon downed the last dregs in his cup and let out a huff of frustration.

It was going to be a long night alone in his bed.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

She was standing in a sea of green, the tall clumps of grass swaying with the breeze. Loose strands of hair whipped around her face, a messy array of moon beams. She could not hear his approach over wind and waves, her focus on the three great dragons capering above the water.

But even with his footsteps muffled she turned to him as if she sensed him, a rare smile lighting her face as he drew up to her shoulder. His heart did a strange dance in his chest with her looking at him like that.

“I never tire of watching them play.”

 _They’re my children,_ she had told him in this very spot. In this spot were she had climbed down off of a dragon he had stared at her and seen her beauty, the strength within her.

“It’s a strange thought, dragons playing.”

A happy hum came from her, the smile never fading from her face as her eyes shifted back to the dragons and then back to him. “When they were smaller, they’d perch up on my shoulder. Sing to me.”

She tapped the spot where she had carried them and Jon felt a little in awe of her. The young Queen who had raised dragons, who had fought hard and bravely to get where she was at. It was difficult not to admire her even if he didn’t always agree with her, even if she frustrated him, even if he longed to know what her touch felt like, what she tasted like.

“Drogon likes you.” Pulling a tendril of hair from her face, she cocked her head sideways, studied him carefully. That look was back, the one that warmed his blood.

“I thought maybe he didn’t think I would taste good.”

A soft huff of amusement came from her as she moved in closer, less than an arm’s length away, close enough to make the tips of his fingers tingle with the want to touch her. “No, taste would not have mattered. He likes you.” That look was back on her face. “He doesn’t like just anyone.”

“Lucky for me.” It was hardly more than a whisper the words clogging in his throat, that strand of hair whipping across her face again. Before she could tame it back he caught it, gave himself a moment to feel the silk between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

That pretty pink mouth parted in surprise, both frozen in place until another cold surge of wind hit them, Daenerys shivering with the impact. Jon unfastened his cloak in a sudden whim and drew it over her shoulders, trying to not think too long on having her in his cloak. Her hands caught on his wrists as he fastened it, trying to ignore the deep rising of her chest, the heat of her fingers imbedding in his skin.

“You’re going to need warmer clothing Your Grace.” Gods, his voice was so rough he barely knew it as his, fingers still lingering on the straps, the light of her hair against the dark of his furs making his chest tight with longing.

It seemed to have an effect on her as well, lashes blinking slowly as she tilted her head, her tongue peeking out to touch her top lip. “I think-“ she let go slowly and took a step back. “I’ll keep your’s.”

All he could hear was the wild thumping of his heart as she walked away with an impish smile, all but swallowed by his cloak.

“When you want it back-“ she paused to look at her shoulder, pale skin, bright eyes. “I expect you’ll come and retrieve it.”

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

_I expect you’ll come and retrieve it._

She was long out of his sight, words still ringing in his head. Sitting down with his men for a meal, he tried to keep an ear tuned to their conversation, but his attention was short, fixed on a silver woman in a northern cloak.

It followed him through the rest of the evening, Daenerys nowhere to be found in his wandering.

“She has retired for the evening, Your Grace.” Missandei giving him the answer to the question he did not voice out loud.

So Jon paced, shut up in his room, trying to convince himself it had been an invitation, trying to convince himself it had not. It was a turmoil in his guts, the anticipation of desire leaving him jittery, unable to hold still.

_He should go._

_He should stay._

With a curse at the situation, _he was here to mine dragonglass, convince her to join in the fight, not fuck her, not fall in……_ he reached for the door, rubbing a hand over his face in defeat.

_He had to go._

Down the dark corridors, his footsteps his only company, convincing himself he was only going back to get his cloak. He needed it. Davos and Tyrion would be back soon and then he’d be headed north into the cold. He needed it back.

The Unsullied were stationed in precise locations, no one entering a hall without being seen. Self conscious as he moved towards her chambers, he kept his fidgeting fingers curled up in a fist, feet taking him to where he longed to be.

The Targaryen sigil was etched into the wood, no doubt of who the room belonged to. A deep breath to muster his courage, preparing himself to knock.

A sound from behind the door stopped him. A low sound that raised the hair on his arms, stirred his loins. Befuddled he stood there, a hand raised halfway, the rough noise again.

A moan. A soft sigh.

He may not be as experienced as some, but he was not a _green boy_ and a surge of jealousy made his chest tight, a bitterness coating his tongue as he understood that noise for what it was.

Daenerys had someone in that room with her. That someone was doing _something_ to her to draw those noises from her.

Gritting his teeth hard enough to hurt his jaw, he marched back to his room, cursing himself as a fool.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Sunrise found him buried in the caves, in his work, silent and sullen, the men around him giving him a wide berth at discovery of his black mood. That suited him fine, he’d rather not spend time pretending to be in a good spirits.

He spent the day avoiding her, making excuses not to see her, finding the distance he found difficult before. Years of trying not to be noticed came back to him, anger settling under his skin. What was he thinking, believing she was looking at him with _more_ in her eyes.

News that Tyrion and Davos were on their way back left him a jumble of feelings. Annoyance that the time between Daenerys and he would be scrutinized, relief that their buffers would be set back into place.

“Will you eat with us?”

The normally pleasing tone of her voice grated within him, harsh and at the same time offered a breath of relief from the day’s worth of self doubt.

“Thank you, but I already found a meal with my men.” He forced the lie out over hurt pride, over the foolish thought that he might have clawed his way up to an equal in her eyes.

She stepped into view, a flash of confusion on her face before it smoothed back down. “Ale and wine in front of the fire then?”

The urge to give in was overwhelming, to soak up _something_ from her, but he steeled himself to deny. Even if the world seen him as less, he knew what he was. “Apologies Your Grace, but I am unfit for company. Please excuse me for the night.”

The look of hurt was written on her features, another thing to berate himself over as he turned to leave before she could call him back, taking long steps in the direction of his chambers. He could brood in there, pack and ready himself, leave upon the marrow, or perhaps the day after. Put a lot of ground between him and Daenerys Targaryen and what he thought he felt.

Light footsteps followed behind, the sound of her stride all too familiar. It was one of the first he’d come to recognize since his time here, able to pick hers out of a crowd.

“My Lord.”

There was the thought to ignore her or to correct her as Ser Davos would do. _Your Grace. He is King in the North_. Instead his pace slowed, allowing her to gain ground, not stopping his retreat.

“Jon Snow.”

There was a bite to her tone now, the sound of it stirring his loins, the anticipation of an argument looming finally causing him to stop and turn. She looked to be in a righteous fury, color in her cheeks, chin jutted up high. He planted his feet, stance ready for the fight he was longing for.

“May I ask what seems to be the problem My Lord? You have acted sullen and moody this night and I just don’t-“

“Excuse me Your Grace… but it is late.” He knew cutting her off was rude, beneath him, but her eyes were flashing and she had schooled her face down to stern, creating a unsteady beat of his heart, the need to crush his mouth to hers becoming more and more difficult to ignore. But his feelings were hurt and he was cursing his own stupidity for letting himself believe he might have something he wanted.

“Yes? Are you saying you’re tired then? Excuse me for keeping you from your bed.”

It was a direct challenge, her ire up, the fire in her irresistible to a man who had spent so much time in the cold. Before he realized what he was doing, he was opening his mouth, the night and day of frustration pouring out. “I’m not the one leaving someone waiting lonely in their bed.”

“Excuse me?” The words were sharp as a knife dragging over his skin.

It was something he could not back down from now, not when he had so efficiently put his foot in his mouth. “Not much gets by you, Your Grace, I believe you heard me just fine.”

Most people who had a fully angered Daenerys Targaryen in front of them, learned it would be wise to retreat, not hold their ground as she stepped forward. Jon knew he wasn’t wise, his hands curling into fists to keep from reaching out to her.

“There is no one in my bed My Lord, though it is no concern of yours.”

She did not know what he had heard the previous night, but the first bit of doubt crept into his head.

_Why would she lie? Why else would she be making those sounds?_

He should apologize and leave, _let it be_ , hope to the gods that he did not just ruin their tentative alliance as surely as he must have dashed away their blossoming _whatever it was_. But there was a flush to her cheeks that never appeared during an argument with one of her counselors. It called to something deep within him and made him want to push at her more.

Suddenly her eyes sharpened. “What makes you think I’ve a lover here?”

Sudden realization of what she _had_ been doing, if in fact alone sent a surge of arousal through him. The collar around his neck was too tight, the heat rising red in his face as he realized what he had just walked himself into. Admitting to lurking around her chambers was a good excuse to get him thrown off the island.

“Jon?”

It was the use of his name that snapped him forward. One moment he was caught up in figuring out what was going on, the next he was moving, surprising them both, her back hitting the stone walls of the corridor. He didn’t image the hitch in her chest or how her gaze lingered on his lips before meeting his eye. Challenging him. Making him say things he never thought he utter.

“Apologies, Your Grace, if I was unwelcome. I was merely….” how to put it? To see if she felt that same intoxicating pull that he did? To see if the beautiful Daenerys Targaryen would somehow let some bastard king put his hands on her?

“What, Jon?” It was a breathy question now, her fingers up to touch the worn gambeson he stubbornly refused to part with.

The use of his name tied his tongue in a knot, a heady rush through his body, settling in his groin. But his thoughts jumped wildly at her implication. _If she had no lover…. Then the only explanation was she had been doing that to herself._ And now she was looking at him, the blue of her eyes drowning in black.

_Maybe……_

Amazed at his own forwardness, he put his hands on the wall, effectively caging her in. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“No?” It was barely more than a whisper, that intriguing pulse in her throat jumping wildly.

He wanted to put his mouth on it.

“No.” He confirmed, letting himself lean in closer, the sweet feminine smell of her skin making his head spin. “I stood outside your door, ready to knock and do you know what I heard?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to skim over a plump lip. He wanted to sink his teeth into that lip, the overwhelming need for her growing impossibly greater. Instead of answer, she dug her fingers in deeper, the urge to rip off the layers between them causing him to finally push into her. She let out a small groan and he caught her head as it fell back, his fingers snagging in braids as he threaded them into the mass of silver.

“What were you doin’ in there, Your Grace?” It was a growled demand, her body shivering against him all the answer he needed to tell him exactly what she had been doing.

_“Jon.”_

She fucking _whimpered_ his name. It snapped what was left of his control and his mouth was covering hers, tasting the fire within, her soft sigh allowing him access. Her arms wrapped around his neck as his tongue curled around hers. She gave, he took, greedily closing whatever distance had been left between them.

Soft. She was so soft, her body yielding against his, her nails biting into him as he finally pulled back, her eyes still closed, lips parted. Then his mouth was on her neck, nipping _finally_ at that spot, soothing with a swipe of his tongue, doing it again as she rolled against him.

Footsteps had him stepping back, Daenerys swaying towards him. Catching her by the elbows he hauled her upright, waited until her eyes focused. “My room is right here.”

“Yes.”

Reaching a hand out, he opened it, rolling them through it in a graceless gesture, pushing her solidly against the wood as he closed it. She was tearing at the leather straps of his armor, her mouth worrying his neck with an impatience that settled in his bones, made him fumble with the fastenings of her own clothing.

A dull thump on the floor as she won her battle, his padded gambeson following with her annoyed muttering on him wearing too much clothing. He huffed out an agreeance, finding her lips again as he pushed at her heavy jacket, head clouding with her light perfume, the taste of her tongue against his, soft skin under his fingertips.

A sharp intake of breath had him halting his explorations, taking in his fill of Daenerys down to a light shift, the outline of high breasts making his mouth water. Gentle fingers traced the scar visible through the neck of his tunic. Muscles tensing he forced himself to look down to her soft touches.

“A figure of speech?”

It was a quiet voice, so unlike the Queen he’d come to know. Swallowing hard, he leaned back, divesting himself of his tunic to let her see her fill, hope she didn’t turn away. He didn’t answer, there was no need at this point, barely there skimming of fingers over the ugly gashes.

The blue of her eyes was hot as she raised her chin, holding his look with a fierceness that took his breath away.

“Those who did this?”

“Dead.”

“Good.” Giving herself some room, she pulled to the tie of her shift, let it fall to the ground in a flutter, her upper body bared, trousers emphasizing a set of womanly hips, a narrow waist.

Unable to resist he scooped up her breasts, ardor not cooled by their pause, testing the feel and weight as her head rolled back in appreciation, dainty hands settling on his shoulders for balance as he ducked down to sample.

Gods, she was intoxicating, her soft cries as he nipped and suckled, admiring the wet sheen left from his mouth. She slumped against the door when he paused his attentions, her fingers tugging at her trousers to rid herself of the hindering fabric.

Reaching down he helped, sliding them over the swell of her arse, thighs strong enough to ride a dragon, a hand on his shoulder as he pulled them off of tiny feet. Fingers plucked at his hair as he followed his path back up, stopping to nose into downy curls the same color as the hair atop her head.

She said something sharp in a language he didn’t understand as he sniffed her like a wolf, appetite increasing so sharply it was difficult to think of anything else but taking in the taste of her.

A rough tug to his hair brought him to his feet, still boiling with want, her eyes blazing hot, nose to nose, her mouth seeking his, a shine of lust to her cheeks. A soft whimper fell into his mouth, even softer lips moving with his. The taste of her, the heat had him spinning, hands on her hips to steady himself.

Hands slipping low, he grabbed handfuls of her delightfully ample arse, taking her to tiptoes and moving towards the bed. The back of her knees hit and he took them down to the mattress, chasing after her mouth as they settled.

It was a fumble of movements, both needing to touch, to savor, to learn, Jon desperate to have her writhing and wrecked under him. Daenerys was giving as good as she got from under his weight, exploring his hard planes, the ridges of sinew and muscle.

A hand slipping into his trousers and wrapping around his straining cock had him putting his teeth into the fleshy underside of her breast, both of them making a noise at the sensations. He wrestled himself away, an open mouthed kiss of apology over the teeth marks before he made it to his knees, staring down at the stirring sight that was Daenerys Targaryen fully aroused.

There was a pout on her pretty mouth at the distance between them, rounding as he lightly pinched her nipple before sliding lower, the first sweep over her soaking slit. She moaned and shifted in encouragement and he did it again the wolf in his blood snapping and howling, ready to feast from her.

“I want to taste you.”

The pulse in her neck was pounding wildly and he could see the pink staining high up on her cheeks. But she complied, shifting her legs apart, offering him a view of her slit, glistening and plump and ready to be plundered.

The air left him in a ragged stream, chest hitching with the effort. His groin tightened in response. He was depraved and wanting, she the only thing that could sate him.

Fighting the urge to grab, roughly claim readily and quickly, he dropped closer and shoved her thighs wider. A little noise left her throat, eyelashes fluttering bashfully, a contradiction to how she slid her own hand down to her center.

The scent of her arousal bloomed, the flush from her cheeks moving south, his gaze raking up and then back down to where her fingers slid through the wet of her, parting the folds to her pink center. Slender fingers gathered moisture, his cock straining in his trousers as he watched her circle that beckoning nub, her groan echoing in his ears.

He broke. Sliding his hands up her thighs, she gave another whimper, rocking her hips towards him and he took advantage, settling between her splayed legs, shoulders keeping her pried apart. His thumb swiped through the mess of her, listening to her breath catch, her hand catching his and pressing it closer.

Nothing ever tasted as sweet and he groaned as her essence coated his tongue, listening to her cry out her pleasure. Pinning her hips down as she writhed, he slowly explored her listening to the crescendo of noise spilling from the back of her throat. Spreading her wide with his fingers, he paused to admire the deep pink, smiling to himself as she tried to strain towards him.

Hissing as he shifted, his cock unbearably ready, he ignored the overwhelming urge to push her thigh apart and slam into her, control at the end of his fingertips. He needed her undone and messy, once inside her it would be over too quickly.

Turning back to the task at hand, eyes moving up her trembling body, over the soft swell and round breasts, taking in a parted mouth, fluttering eyes. Sliding his fingers inside of her, cunt welcoming and wet, holding him tight as he sunk them as deep as he could.

She lurched, or tried to, his forearm anchoring her down, fingers curling back towards himself, her high pitched cries igniting what was left of his wits as he drove her up, mouth latching back on to work in harmony with his strokes.

The sound of his name being called out as she broke apart was nearly his undoing. His heart did a dangerous flop as she cried it again, her body curling towards him, her fingers in his hair. The taste of her was in his mouth as he lapped in a dazed greed, surely ruining him from wanting anything else.

He backed off with a gentle kiss on the inside of a pale thigh, watching from his elbows as her chest heaved, her fingers clumsily petting his head, his face. With a hum, she pulled at his shoulder and he went, settling into the cradle of her thighs.

Hissing at the wet heat of her through his trousers, he settled his elbows by her head, long sure strokes of his tongue along hers, the pressure building higher inside of him.

“Off.”

It was a demand spoken into their kiss, her roaming fingers pushing at the offending clothing and he was ready to oblige, twisting until he was free of them. A purr of approval rumbled in her throat, her hands sweeping over him in a trail of fire.

When she pushed he allowed himself to fall to his back, an arm banded behind her, nose buried in the valley between her breasts, licking his way from one to another. Her erratic breathing goaded him on, soft skin sliding against his, the buzzing of his blood at fever pitch.

Gods, she was beautiful, his heart thudding wildly as she rose to straddle him, hunger etched on her face, something more reflecting in her eyes. That _more_ filled his chest, hands gripping her hips to ground himself, hold her still before he lost himself completely.

She was above him, smooth creamy skin, soft curves, long trailing hair tickling him as she bent forward to straddle and Jon was sure he must be translucent, everything he felt for her showing as if it was written under his skin. A fist around his cock and he could hear the wild beating of his heart as she lined them up with determination. Her face twisted in a slight grimace as her body swallowed him slowly, her lip bitten as she struggled down, her cunt wrapping around him in a wet and fiery strangle.

Fingers grabbed roughly at her hips, holding her prisoner against him, he gave a throaty groan and she wriggled making him twitch inside of that sleek and silken fit. Then she lifted, a fluid movement, before dropping back down, a twist to her face as she bottomed out.

It was torture. A blissful torture he never wanted to end. Her rhythm was steady, his cock dragging her open with every pass, he was mesmerized by her eyelashes fluttering with her movement, small breasts bouncing with every jar, the deep cries she was making. She was leaving a trail of fire and he was ready to be burned.

Slick wet sounds filled his ears, the sight of her cunt taking all of him with effort making him forget how to breathe. Planting his feet on the bed, he aided with hard thrusts, her squeals goading him on.

He was almost to breaking, it had been so long and he was so desperate for her, the fire inside rising to dangerous levels. She seemed to be unwilling to drag anything out, her fingers doing a seductive slide down her belly and gathering on her nub, moving in a well practiced manner.

It was too much, causing him to rise, biting his bottom lip in attempts to stall his eruption, pinning her to his chest. Blue eyes were swamped with black pupils, dewy skin sliding over his, her pebbled nipples dragging and he nipped at her mouth, a hand tangling hopelessly in her abundance of hair.

She broke with a cry of his name, the first grasping pulse of her cunt pulling him off the edge and he grunted, holding her tight to grind up into her, empty his seed into her, the dainty body seizing in bliss in his arms.

He brought them to a slow stop, face buried in the sweetness of her neck, an open mouthed kiss as he tried to regain his wits. She made a noise in her throat, panting in his ear as she pushed at him gently, their sticky skin reluctant to part.

Shifting her hips and he slid out of her with a wince, his Queen flopping ungracefully to her back, debauched and tousled. He let himself fall back beside her, tamping down the urge to pull her into him and have her reject his familiarity. Instead he reached out, a single touch, waiting for her to come to terms with what they had just done.

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~ ** _Daenerys_** ~~~~~~

 

 

Jon Snow was gasping for air beside her, the weight of his hand laid over her belly, the two of them recovering in a bed that smelled like him.

It shook her to the core, the depths of what she felt for him. It was more than she had thought, past affections paling in comparison. She had enjoyed their teasing, the wonderful distraction from him taking the fool’s errand, the time exploring more of her attraction. But when he has failed to come to her room- so she had believed- she had been cross and hurt, wanting a big ugly row to let out the pent up frustration from being caught up in the allure of the King in the North.

He did things to her, this stubborn man and she pushed herself up, leaving him in his bed, needing air, space between them to closely exam the chaos inside of her. She had not expected him to bring her to utter ruin. To empty all of her senses and fill them back up with _him._

Making her way to the mirror, which probably was unused by the room’s occupant- he did not seem the type to stare at his own reflection- she sat in the chair, studied the flush of her skin, marks of enthusiasm littering her chest. Her heart clinched in appraisal, her tired body asking for more. She ignored it, turning to the knotted mess of her hair, a reflection of the emotions running through her, balling up in her belly, the urge to run and hide from those soft dark eyes, the want to curl up into his warmth, breathe in the scent of his skin.

She purposely kept her back to him, the shifting in the bed giving away that he was rousing from post coital paralysis. She had been wanton, recklessly so where he was concerned and he had made his way under her skin, unraveled her with a shocking quickness. It was startling that she had allowed it to happen, that she was so utterly taken by him. Using her fingers she combed out her tresses, the familiar pull at her roots, untangling what his desperate fingers had wound soothed her, helped prevent her from turning back to him and seeking out the comfort she was now sure she wanted from him, that he would give her. No, she needed distance from him so she could sort through everything.

A low hum had her looking up into the mirror, locking eyes with him in the glass. For a man who rarely smiled, wore a scowl like a piece of armor, his sable eyes spoke loudly, filled with things she was not ready to hear spoken out loud.

“What are you looking at?” Keeping her voice clipped, she was surprised to see the corner of his mouth twitch up, amused by her tone. That very same mouth that had caused her to scream his name earlier.

“You.” The voice was gruff, well used. “Sittin’ there, not quite sure what to do with me.”

“I think I’ve proven differently.” Turning towards him she gave a pointed look, letting her gaze fall down the length of his body half covered. Instead of a bashful response, like she expected, he snorted in amusement, sitting up in a ripple of muscle.

“Aye, _that_ you did to me well.”

The whites of his teeth flashed with a rare smile, a heat rising in her cheeks in response, then it all flooding south as he stood, not at all shy in his nakedness as he padded over the rug, stealthy as a wolf, stopping just out of her reach.

Gods, he was a distraction, pale skin over lean power, the dark of his hair a contrast. The sticky mess of them resided between her thighs, a reminder of what had just transpired. As if she would be in danger of forgetting it. She tore her eyes away to look up at him. “Explain yourself then, Jon Snow.”

It was now apparent that after making her lose her senses in the most basic of ways, he would no longer be wary of her temper, of her haughty demeanor as he caught her chin with his finger.

“I mean now. You don’t know what to do with me now.”

Pulling her lips down in a pout she sniffed, feigned indifference. “I surely do not know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant and the gods damn him, he was right. This difficult man had been a thorn in her side, with his pretty face and tenacious nature, had shown himself true and had somehow come to rest in her heart. She was not even sure why she was pushing at him.

“You have to be the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”

The small grin had not left his face, delighting her as much as it infuriated her. Normal brooding expression aside, he looked like the young comely man he was. One that was looking away from death and destruction to tease a pretty girl that he’d spent an enjoyable part of the night inside of. She sighed in remembrance even though she still wore the scent of him on her skin.

“Have you known many women My Lord?” Gods help her, was that jealousy in her voice?

“Back to formalities now?”

Putting his hands on the arms of her chair, she was trapped, the heat of him, the scent of him making her dizzy. She wanted to pull him even closer.

“You had no problem sayin’ my name while I was inside of you.”

His eyes burned right through her, the boldness of his words causing her to suck in her breath. “A rare occurrence.”

“Is it now? Then it seems best I’m on my way.”

Huffing out a breath she let him start to move away before giving in to the need to keep him close, grabbing and catching a strong wrist in her hand. To his credit, he kept any smugness off his face, instead looking upon her with lust and affection.

“What’s this? Should I stay?”

Hands on her knees pushed them apart and he crowded between, a flash of heat coursing over her skin when he shifted to his own knees, dark eyes never leaving her face.

“I may have spoken in haste.” Letting her thighs fall farther open, she threaded fingers into the riot of hair, arousal pulsing in her cunt. Gods, she was ready for him again.

“Did you now?” Fingers dug into the underside of her knees and he tugged slowly, dragging her closer. The thin robe did nothing to mask the heat coming off his body, to hide the smell of sex, her arousal.

It was getting difficult to bear the weight of her own head, hands smoothing over his shoulders, palms tingling with the sensation. She gave in. “ _Yes_. Jon.”

Soft lips brushed hers, the scrape of his beard as he leaned in, mouth parting for him with a hum, the glide of his tongue making her toes curl. Leaning up she pressed herself flush against him, fingers learning the notches of his spine as he learned the crevices of her mouth, clouded her mind with need.

Panting and shaking as he pulled away, Daenerys kept him close, pressing her forehead to his, reading the hunger in his black eyes. It was a sea inside of her, all her emotions mixed, waves crashing down on her, leaving her stunned with the depth of it all.

Eyes squeezed shut as he leaned back in, slowly this time, full of soft longing that made her purr, tickled her eyelids with tears, returning it to him with gentle sweeps of her tongue, light sucks on his bottom lip. A hand tugged at her robe and it parted, baring skin, the coolness of the air raising bumps along it.

Sighing softly when he pushed it off her shoulders, his mouth latching onto her neck she skimmed her hands through his silky hair, holding him closely. But it wasn’t enough, body burning for more, needing him to fill her up, break her down and gather up the pieces.

“Bed.” She whispered against his succulent mouth after she pulled him from where he had been marking up her pale skin.

An agreement was made, Jon scooping her from the chair, a kiss pressed to her temple that warmed her heart, melted her a bit more and setting her on the bed as if she was something precious.

Wriggling, she pulled at him, letting her thighs splay wide to let him in between, a noise of pleasure as he settled, nipping under her chin, cock bumping through the sensitive heat of her. A tug on his dark curls and his head came up, dark eyes darker, his bottom lip plump and ripe for the taking.

His hands were busy, sliding between them, testing her arousal, hissing at finding her so ready, her nails digging into the flex of muscle over his back, hips rocking towards him in impatience.

Untangling his tongue from hers, he raised his head a moment, nose bumping into her, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Is this how you secure your military alliances?”

She whined at his pause before gathering herself a small amount. “Did it make you reconsider bending the knee?”

“I believe I remember bending the knee.” Rough hands caught her thigh, pushed it up higher, rutted slowly against her, a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, cunt dripping with fire. “Two knees actually. Do you need a reminder?”

A whispered _yes_ was muffled by his lips, a notch slipping on her need, hands sliding under to run down the bumps and ridges of his abdomen, a small noise of triumph as she fisted his cock.

The air he blew out tickled her neck, a pained whimper as she gave him a thorough stoke, testing the weight of him, slight disappointment that she wasn’t going to be exploring more of him this time.

_Next time. Because she wanted a next time._

Her wits were scattered to the wind, his fingers delving and rubbing, a fast learner, her teeth in his shoulder to steady herself as her body wound back up tightly.

“More.” It was a broken sob, lifting herself shamelessly towards him, a fire coursing through her veins.

“Aye, more.” He promised, mouth finding hers again in a frantic kiss, no finesse as he slid down and adjusted.

Even thoroughly used from the first time, she let out a groan as he slid into her, cock pulling apart tender flesh with an exquisite pain. Inky eyes studied her in response but she dissolved all concern by rolling hips up to him, nails digging in for purchase.

Encouraged by the shameless wanton behavior, he nipped at her lip, gave a slow dirty grind that had her clenching around him, desperately needing more of just that pressure _right there_. He acquiesced her silent request, pulling away to settle back within her with a bone rattled thud.

Pleasure bloomed, her toes curling into the back of his thighs as he’s settled into a steady ride, slowly chipping away at everything build up inside of her. An arm slid beneath her, hand cupping her neck, beard scratching her face as he crooned tender nonsense into her ear. Jon Snow was breaking apart the last of her barriers, the last of her denials as the obscene sounds of sex filled the room.

A hand hitched a thigh up higher, opening her up more, a sharp cry as he notched himself against her womb, the tension inside of her building to an impossible peak.

He picked up speed, force and she cried out with it, his mouth covering hers to quiet, to plunder, the drawn out anguish laying her open. With a heaving cry she snapped, relief flooding through her in waves, her quaking body held tightly to his and she almost screamed with the intensity of it all.

Hard grunts fell across her lips as he chased his own end, her walls grasping him in encouragement until he was also lost, the warmth of his release flooding her depths as she steadied him, tremors still filling her as he stuttered, slowly coming to a halt.

Instead of rolling right off of her and giving her time to gather the pieces of herself back up, Jon bumped his nose along hers, heavy lashes fluttering open to look at her, soft lingering kisses left on her abused mouth.

She was melted, undone in every way possible and in ways she did not even know were possible. A sigh of his name was met with a smile, his thumb smoothing along her cheek. Daenerys waited for it, the feeling to hide herself again, but it never came, only the steady warm of _Jon_ filling her chest.

Finally he slipped out of her, the combined mess of them leaking out, a sharp pang of what would never be created between them, what they would never have, filling her. The urge to weep had her moving to leave the bed and his gentle touches.

“No you don’t. Come here.”

A tug pulled her back, her body drawn into his, her hands splaying across his chest, the need to touch overwhelming the ache inside of her.

“Don’t pull away from me. Not now.”

 _“Jon.”_ It was almost a beg and her eyes closed when he caught her lips with his, a gentle languid kiss that left her defenseless once again.

Parting, his forehead tipped into hers, fingers stroking along her shoulder in a soothing gesture. “Are you going to ask me to leave?”

“No.” She brushed her fingers over his lips, testing the softness that she was now intimately acquainted with. It had been exhausting before, trying to keep an appropriate distance, and now. Jon Snow had unraveled her as easily as a spool of thread. It seemed for naught to try and put back up her wall of resistance, the awareness that she no longer wanted to. Not now. Not after this.

“You’ll come back Jon Snow.” _To me_ , was left unsaid, though she longed to speak it, to have it out between them. But she worried, even after this, it was too soon for him to hear, so she kept it to herself, tucked in close to her heart. She traced the line of the scar over his eye, a distraction from the want to hand him over her heart.

“I plan on it.” It was a promise. Then a tease. “You still have to show me what you were doin’ to yourself.”

He rolled over to his back, taking her with him as she laughed, a heady feeling, the wanting of more of him. A hand splayed across her back, calloused fingers sweeping over her spine, a gentle gesture that caused a noise of content at the back of her throat. A light chuckle fell across the crown of her head, a nose nuzzling her temple as he drew her closer.

It was a warm contentment in her chest, a fluttering of her heart, the stutter of panic, all she felt for this man. The steady rise of his breaths, the peace of just sharing the moment together, a hope for more. A leg tucked over his, a heartbeat under her ear and she acknowledged that she was utterly lost in everything that was Jon Snow.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
